Old World Ghosts
March 14, 2012 at 4:42 am
(This post was last modified: March 14, 2012 at 4:53 am by Creed of Heresy.)
This is the first part of a Fallout-centered story I am writing. If you haven't played Fallout [any of the games], you don't need to worry; this story is meant to explore the universe itself, to show the world before and after the nuclear apocalypse. So far, I just have the introduction. I figured I'd fling this up on here. Fallout fans or not, feel free to let me know what you think. I'm finding the more work I put into this, the more I find myself getting sucked into the story even as I write it; always a good sign. Take in mind, the formatting is a bit off, this being a forum post and all, so the paragraphing is off, for which I apologize. So, here it is, without any further delay...
FALLOUT: OLD WORLD GHOSTS
A fanfic by Creed of Heresy
A fanfic by Creed of Heresy
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October 20th, 2077
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“Prisoner ID, 14-32-50-113-050.”
The man behind the desk shuffled a couple papers after rattling off the numbers, before setting them down neatly in front of him. The prisoner seated before him, shackled at the wrists and ankles, couldn't help thinking of what a cliche gesture it was. That or maybe it was just habitual for the interrogator, who had a receding salt-and-pepper hairline and sallow skin. There wasn't much else for the prisoner to make out besides that, due to the hanging lamp directly over him. The bright light directly overhead did nothing to light up the rest of the room and it threw off his perception almost entirely. It didn't help any that it hurt his eyes, as if he were looking into the sun after spending a month in an unlit cellar.
“You've been accused of unpatriotic sentiments, instigating several violent riots, corroboration with suspected communist sympathizers-”
“People trying to feed their families are communist sympath-” the prisoner began to retort, but the interrogator cut him off sharply.
“I am not finished, zero-fifty, and if you interrupt me again you'll get 50,000 volts, understand?”
The prisoner's jaw clenched, but he said nothing further. The interrogator leered at him a moment before turning his gaze back down to the papers in front of him.
“As I was saying...corroboration with suspected communist sympathizers, armed robbery, grand theft, fraud, illegal infiltration of government security systems, spreading false information against sponsored uplifting sermons-”
“You mean illegal religious inclusion in the government, the constitu-” the prisoner began, voice rippling with indignation before abruptly terminating in a pained scream as thousands of volts of electricity coursed up his spine, leaving him spasming violently against the seat he was bound to.
“I warned you, oh-fifty. May I proceed, or are we going to have to do this again?”
“F...fuck you,” the prisoner rasped, before arching his back in involuntary spasms as the electric current shot through his body, stopping a moment later, leaving him gasping for breath.
“As I was saying, oh-fifty, you've also been accused of refusing to cooperate with the authorities, treasonous statements, spreading sedition, distributing seditious material-”
“What, BOOKS?!” the prisoner said incredulously. The interrogator leered at him.
“...And PRINTING seditious material.”
“I'm a WRITER, it's what I do!”
“So you are admitting to printing and distributing seditious materials.”
“Is this real? Are you serious?”
“Answer the question, oh-fifty.”
“No, I wrote books about questioning government authority, which is what this country was-”
“Thank you, oh-fifty, no further information about that necessary. And to the other charges?”
The prisoner stared incredulously. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had heard that federal arrests and charges were becoming steadily more ridiculous but he couldn't actually believe they were going to prosecute him for this. After a moment, he finally found his voice.
“Innocent. Of ALL of it.”
“Including the charges of riot instigation?”
“Riot instigation?!” the prisoner replied, his voice raising an octave. “What, you mean the protest outside the Capitol building?? We were completely peaceful, we didn't do a damn thing until the cops started beating the crap out of us!”
“Civil disobedience is still disobedience. And to the charge of grand theft, fraud, illegal infiltration...?”
“I hadn't been paid in two months! Every time I asked them about it they said it was a payroll error or that I had to speak to some department that hadn't existed in two years!”
“So you admit to infiltrating the payroll system and depositing the money into a personal account?”
“Only what I was owed! My electricity had been turned off and I was eating once a day, and I was facing eviction, what was I supposed-”
“And to the charges of corroboration, falsifying information about the National Department of Religious Education?”
“What, you mean the department of religious indoctrination? It's constitutionally illegal, the Separation of Church and State-”
“No longer applies. We're at war with a nation of godless commies, oh-fifty, or have you forgotten that?”
“We're at war with communist China, what does that have to do with forcing religious teachings upon everyone?” the prisoner demanded, incredulity reaching peak levels in his voice, forcing it into a slightly higher octave. The interrogator sighed impatiently.
“Answer the question, oh-fifty.”
“All I did was state in an interview that it's unconstitutional to be forcing our nation's youth to adhere to scripture before they can graduate high school-”
“Guilty, then, and to the charge of corroboration.”
The prisoner stared for a moment, then shrugged and shook his head.
“Is there really any point to me replying? This is insanity, I want a lawyer.”
“You don't get one. Habeus corpus has been suspended for anyone suspected of sedition, now answer my questions, oh-fifty, or you get the shock treatment again.”
The prisoner's eyes widened.
“Habeus cor- suspend- WHAT?!” he demanded, voice almost shrill with disbelief and anger now, before a sharp cry ripped from his lips as once again the electrical probes inserted into his spine pulsed, jolting him with repeated surges of electricity. When he finally stopped spasming, the interrogator leaned forward.
“One last time, oh-fifty. Did...you...corroborate...with suspected communist sympathizers?”
“N...no,” the prisoner gasped, panting heavily.
“Please be aware that pleading innocent to charges we know you are guilty of will carry with them a harsher sentence. As it is, you appear utterly remorseless, and I am considering listing all charges as pleas of innocence in the face of guilt.”
“Pleading innocent?? This isn't a trial,” the prisoner rasped, struggling to sit back up straight, nerve spasms still wracking his body.
“This is as close to a trial as you are going to receive, oh-fifty. Additional to the suspension of habeus corpus, we have suspended rights to trials of citizens who are acting in concert with the enemy.”
The prisoner shook his head in disbelief.
“This is a bad dream. This is a fucking nightmare. You can't do this to me. You can't do this! I'm a god-damn American citizen, I have rights, god-dammit!!” he roared, fury and desperation heavily coloring his tone. The interrogator watched him coldly, unflinching.
“You gave up those rights when you began to work against the patriotic good of your country. We do not afford rights to those who work with those who wish to destroy them. Since you have not answered my question, I am going to come to the conclusion you are denying the charge, and given that we know of your actions already, this will require the maximum penalty.”
The prisoner jerked against his chains, struggling wildly.
“This is lunacy! You can't do this!”
“We can, and we have to, to protect this nation from people like you,” the interrogator replied simply, standing up and turning to the two armed guards standing at the doorway. Guards, please take oh-fifty back to his cell immediately.”
The prisoner glared at the interrogator as the guards approached, trying to yank away as they hauled him to his feet. He spat at the interrogator's feet in contempt as the guards pushed him towards the door. They paused for a brief moment as they passed by the interrogator, and the prisoner took the opportunity to speak one last time.
“He who sacrifices freedom for security deserve neither,” the prisoner hisses. The interrogator stared coolly back at the man as he was shoved out the door, but did not reply. He instead brought the prisoner file up to his eyes.
Prisoner classification 0 (Top-level threat), ID number 50. Gregory Mills. Birth name Elegy, legally changed to Gregory when he turned 18. 27 years of age. No record of serving mandatory draft. Parents deceased, father killed in action while in service, mother died as a result of complications during child-birth. One brother, elder, in USSOCOM, Captain in Ranger 3rd Battalion. Second brother, also elder, employed by Lockreed as a project manager, developing fighter jets for the military.
The interrogator shook his head. How did he deviate so far from what was otherwise such an upstanding, patriotic family? He did not dwell on it any longer. He closed the folder, went to his office, and filed it away for later reference if needed.
It would never see the light of day again.
“Gregory Mills, you have been charged with and found guilty of numerous crimes against the Union, including sedition, treason, blasphemy, inciting riots, and theft, among many other crimes. Because of your confession of guilt to most of these crimes, albeit in a roundabout way during questioning, the...immediate, death sentence is being waived.”
The prisoner, Gregory, stared silently across the room at the Auditor as the government-sanctioned sentencer rambled on in his dull monotone voice. The lower portion of Greg's face was covered in a tight-fitting latex tape, preventing him from speech. He could say nothing in his defense, only hear the final verdict. Justice had truly become a sham.
“However, due to your absolutely, heinously unrepentant defense of your disgusting, treasonous actions, and your unwillingness to renounce your ways in even the smallest capacities, have led me to sentence you to government-sanctioned scientific testing.”
Greg's eyes widened at these words. Science testing? He'd heard all kinds of rumors about what happened to people in those facilities. He didn't think they actually did it, though. Then again, at this point, he had to wonder why he felt any shock at all. The Auditor droned on.
“Therefore you will be transferred to DC Cryo and placed in their care pending transfer to the Big Mountain Research and Development Center in the Southwest Commonwealth. I would say 'God take mercy on you,' but given your blasphemous track record, I highly doubt he would. This appointment is adjourned.”
Greg felt numb, as he was grabbed by the elbows and dragged unceremoniously out of the cold gray room. The death sentence would have been merciful. The electric chair at least was fairly fast. But a human lab rat? For a company well-known for their absolute lack of adherence to even the flimsiest of human rights?? He would have begged for summary execution...but he knew there was no point. What little dignity he had would be stripped away eventually as it was. All he had left was the amount of time he could cling to it. So he kept silent.
He did not speak for the next few days. He ate the tasteless slop that was served to him without a word. Other inmates in the cells around him complained about the quality of the food, about the conditions of their cells. Some made sarcastic remarks to the guards. The wise-asses of the lot were dragged out after a remarkably short time, beaten senseless, and thrown into their cells. Sometimes they woke up. Sometimes they woke up but hardly moved. And other times, they never moved again, except to be dragged out bodily by the guards when the corpses started to stink. Even the smart-asses stopped talking after a while.
Everything passed in a dull haze. The numbness wouldn't go away. Greg let his mind wander, thinking about his brothers. Seth and Big Greg. Seth was building fighter jets, last he heard, but Seth had stopped talking to him only a few months prior to Greg's arrest. There had been accusations of corporate espionage and summary executions for those accused. Big Greg was in the Army, a mid-ranking officer in the Rangers, a Special Operations unit that was fighting alongside the mechanized infantry divisions cutting their way through China towards Beijing. He'd sent letters sporadically when he could...but those, too, had stopped abruptly. The last few letters had spoken of the desperation with which the Chinese were starting to fight. The Reds were losing a hundred men for every American soldier they managed to bring down, and even the vast east Asian nation's population couldn't support such unsustainable casualties. They were starting to fight dirty. There had been whisperings that the Chinese government was considering pushing the big red button with every mile American forces took. The thought sent a chill down Greg's spine, the first sign of any non-essential activity he'd given in days.
He looked up at the sound of keys rattling in his cell door's lock. Two prison guards stood in the doorway, shock batons drawn.
“Prisoner 0-50, on your feet,” one of them demanded curtly. Greg stood slowly, and the other guard approached, shackling his hands and ankles. Silently, they led him down the cell block hallway, taking several turns, climbing and descending staircases, passing by more rows of cells, gas-chambers for executions, firing ranges with blood splatters on the far wall, electric-chairs which stank of burnt flesh and hair, until they descended into a basement level. Just before they entered the doorway, Greg glanced up, seeing the words “CRYO-STASIS FACILITY” in blue block lettering. He closed his eyes quietly, sighing, before opening his eyes again. They led him into a massive hallway, more like a cavern, filled with holodisplays, Auto-Docs, computer terminals, and man-sized cylinders: The cryo-tubes.
“We are now unbinding your shackles. If you resist, we are authorized to use any means necessary to subdue you...and trust me, these shock batons hurt like a bitch,” the guard who had spoke earlier growled. Greg remained still as they unshackled his wrists and ankles, and hardly flinched as they unzipped his prison jumpsuit. Well...so much for dignity. He took a deep breath as they pushed him inside the nearest cryo-tube.
“See you at Big Mountain,” the guard guffawed, laughing as they closed the door on the tube. The back of the tube was made of some kind of adhesive, and it shifted, lifting him to suspend him in the tube, adhesive-binding him into position as a pair of mechanical arms forced a pair of tubes down his nostrils. He retched as the tubes forced their way down his throat, too lubricated to trigger his gag reflex. Another tube was forced past his lips and down his throat. A moment later, there was a hissing sound that roared throughout the cryo-tube, and before panic could set in, the temperature dropped rapidly, as the tubes pumped a variety of chemicals into him...a sort of biodegradable, human-metabolic anti-freeze.
An instant later, prisoner classification 0, ID number 50, Gregory Mills, birth name Elegy, 27 years of age, froze into a state of cryostasis. That last moment, the frost building on the surface of the transparent plastiscreen panel, the equipment beyond it, the rows of identical cryo-tubes, filled with others like him, so-called traitors, denounced for their actions of rebellion against a xenophobic, runaway government power, accused un-American for demanding to be heard, for demanding the government uphold its constitutional obligations, attended by blue-coated technicians, the blinking of holodisplays and computer terminals and status indicators, the harsh glow of the fluorescent lighting above...
It was the last he would see of the world as he knew it.
October 20th, 2077
-----------------------
“Prisoner ID, 14-32-50-113-050.”
The man behind the desk shuffled a couple papers after rattling off the numbers, before setting them down neatly in front of him. The prisoner seated before him, shackled at the wrists and ankles, couldn't help thinking of what a cliche gesture it was. That or maybe it was just habitual for the interrogator, who had a receding salt-and-pepper hairline and sallow skin. There wasn't much else for the prisoner to make out besides that, due to the hanging lamp directly over him. The bright light directly overhead did nothing to light up the rest of the room and it threw off his perception almost entirely. It didn't help any that it hurt his eyes, as if he were looking into the sun after spending a month in an unlit cellar.
“You've been accused of unpatriotic sentiments, instigating several violent riots, corroboration with suspected communist sympathizers-”
“People trying to feed their families are communist sympath-” the prisoner began to retort, but the interrogator cut him off sharply.
“I am not finished, zero-fifty, and if you interrupt me again you'll get 50,000 volts, understand?”
The prisoner's jaw clenched, but he said nothing further. The interrogator leered at him a moment before turning his gaze back down to the papers in front of him.
“As I was saying...corroboration with suspected communist sympathizers, armed robbery, grand theft, fraud, illegal infiltration of government security systems, spreading false information against sponsored uplifting sermons-”
“You mean illegal religious inclusion in the government, the constitu-” the prisoner began, voice rippling with indignation before abruptly terminating in a pained scream as thousands of volts of electricity coursed up his spine, leaving him spasming violently against the seat he was bound to.
“I warned you, oh-fifty. May I proceed, or are we going to have to do this again?”
“F...fuck you,” the prisoner rasped, before arching his back in involuntary spasms as the electric current shot through his body, stopping a moment later, leaving him gasping for breath.
“As I was saying, oh-fifty, you've also been accused of refusing to cooperate with the authorities, treasonous statements, spreading sedition, distributing seditious material-”
“What, BOOKS?!” the prisoner said incredulously. The interrogator leered at him.
“...And PRINTING seditious material.”
“I'm a WRITER, it's what I do!”
“So you are admitting to printing and distributing seditious materials.”
“Is this real? Are you serious?”
“Answer the question, oh-fifty.”
“No, I wrote books about questioning government authority, which is what this country was-”
“Thank you, oh-fifty, no further information about that necessary. And to the other charges?”
The prisoner stared incredulously. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had heard that federal arrests and charges were becoming steadily more ridiculous but he couldn't actually believe they were going to prosecute him for this. After a moment, he finally found his voice.
“Innocent. Of ALL of it.”
“Including the charges of riot instigation?”
“Riot instigation?!” the prisoner replied, his voice raising an octave. “What, you mean the protest outside the Capitol building?? We were completely peaceful, we didn't do a damn thing until the cops started beating the crap out of us!”
“Civil disobedience is still disobedience. And to the charge of grand theft, fraud, illegal infiltration...?”
“I hadn't been paid in two months! Every time I asked them about it they said it was a payroll error or that I had to speak to some department that hadn't existed in two years!”
“So you admit to infiltrating the payroll system and depositing the money into a personal account?”
“Only what I was owed! My electricity had been turned off and I was eating once a day, and I was facing eviction, what was I supposed-”
“And to the charges of corroboration, falsifying information about the National Department of Religious Education?”
“What, you mean the department of religious indoctrination? It's constitutionally illegal, the Separation of Church and State-”
“No longer applies. We're at war with a nation of godless commies, oh-fifty, or have you forgotten that?”
“We're at war with communist China, what does that have to do with forcing religious teachings upon everyone?” the prisoner demanded, incredulity reaching peak levels in his voice, forcing it into a slightly higher octave. The interrogator sighed impatiently.
“Answer the question, oh-fifty.”
“All I did was state in an interview that it's unconstitutional to be forcing our nation's youth to adhere to scripture before they can graduate high school-”
“Guilty, then, and to the charge of corroboration.”
The prisoner stared for a moment, then shrugged and shook his head.
“Is there really any point to me replying? This is insanity, I want a lawyer.”
“You don't get one. Habeus corpus has been suspended for anyone suspected of sedition, now answer my questions, oh-fifty, or you get the shock treatment again.”
The prisoner's eyes widened.
“Habeus cor- suspend- WHAT?!” he demanded, voice almost shrill with disbelief and anger now, before a sharp cry ripped from his lips as once again the electrical probes inserted into his spine pulsed, jolting him with repeated surges of electricity. When he finally stopped spasming, the interrogator leaned forward.
“One last time, oh-fifty. Did...you...corroborate...with suspected communist sympathizers?”
“N...no,” the prisoner gasped, panting heavily.
“Please be aware that pleading innocent to charges we know you are guilty of will carry with them a harsher sentence. As it is, you appear utterly remorseless, and I am considering listing all charges as pleas of innocence in the face of guilt.”
“Pleading innocent?? This isn't a trial,” the prisoner rasped, struggling to sit back up straight, nerve spasms still wracking his body.
“This is as close to a trial as you are going to receive, oh-fifty. Additional to the suspension of habeus corpus, we have suspended rights to trials of citizens who are acting in concert with the enemy.”
The prisoner shook his head in disbelief.
“This is a bad dream. This is a fucking nightmare. You can't do this to me. You can't do this! I'm a god-damn American citizen, I have rights, god-dammit!!” he roared, fury and desperation heavily coloring his tone. The interrogator watched him coldly, unflinching.
“You gave up those rights when you began to work against the patriotic good of your country. We do not afford rights to those who work with those who wish to destroy them. Since you have not answered my question, I am going to come to the conclusion you are denying the charge, and given that we know of your actions already, this will require the maximum penalty.”
The prisoner jerked against his chains, struggling wildly.
“This is lunacy! You can't do this!”
“We can, and we have to, to protect this nation from people like you,” the interrogator replied simply, standing up and turning to the two armed guards standing at the doorway. Guards, please take oh-fifty back to his cell immediately.”
The prisoner glared at the interrogator as the guards approached, trying to yank away as they hauled him to his feet. He spat at the interrogator's feet in contempt as the guards pushed him towards the door. They paused for a brief moment as they passed by the interrogator, and the prisoner took the opportunity to speak one last time.
“He who sacrifices freedom for security deserve neither,” the prisoner hisses. The interrogator stared coolly back at the man as he was shoved out the door, but did not reply. He instead brought the prisoner file up to his eyes.
Prisoner classification 0 (Top-level threat), ID number 50. Gregory Mills. Birth name Elegy, legally changed to Gregory when he turned 18. 27 years of age. No record of serving mandatory draft. Parents deceased, father killed in action while in service, mother died as a result of complications during child-birth. One brother, elder, in USSOCOM, Captain in Ranger 3rd Battalion. Second brother, also elder, employed by Lockreed as a project manager, developing fighter jets for the military.
The interrogator shook his head. How did he deviate so far from what was otherwise such an upstanding, patriotic family? He did not dwell on it any longer. He closed the folder, went to his office, and filed it away for later reference if needed.
It would never see the light of day again.
“Gregory Mills, you have been charged with and found guilty of numerous crimes against the Union, including sedition, treason, blasphemy, inciting riots, and theft, among many other crimes. Because of your confession of guilt to most of these crimes, albeit in a roundabout way during questioning, the...immediate, death sentence is being waived.”
The prisoner, Gregory, stared silently across the room at the Auditor as the government-sanctioned sentencer rambled on in his dull monotone voice. The lower portion of Greg's face was covered in a tight-fitting latex tape, preventing him from speech. He could say nothing in his defense, only hear the final verdict. Justice had truly become a sham.
“However, due to your absolutely, heinously unrepentant defense of your disgusting, treasonous actions, and your unwillingness to renounce your ways in even the smallest capacities, have led me to sentence you to government-sanctioned scientific testing.”
Greg's eyes widened at these words. Science testing? He'd heard all kinds of rumors about what happened to people in those facilities. He didn't think they actually did it, though. Then again, at this point, he had to wonder why he felt any shock at all. The Auditor droned on.
“Therefore you will be transferred to DC Cryo and placed in their care pending transfer to the Big Mountain Research and Development Center in the Southwest Commonwealth. I would say 'God take mercy on you,' but given your blasphemous track record, I highly doubt he would. This appointment is adjourned.”
Greg felt numb, as he was grabbed by the elbows and dragged unceremoniously out of the cold gray room. The death sentence would have been merciful. The electric chair at least was fairly fast. But a human lab rat? For a company well-known for their absolute lack of adherence to even the flimsiest of human rights?? He would have begged for summary execution...but he knew there was no point. What little dignity he had would be stripped away eventually as it was. All he had left was the amount of time he could cling to it. So he kept silent.
He did not speak for the next few days. He ate the tasteless slop that was served to him without a word. Other inmates in the cells around him complained about the quality of the food, about the conditions of their cells. Some made sarcastic remarks to the guards. The wise-asses of the lot were dragged out after a remarkably short time, beaten senseless, and thrown into their cells. Sometimes they woke up. Sometimes they woke up but hardly moved. And other times, they never moved again, except to be dragged out bodily by the guards when the corpses started to stink. Even the smart-asses stopped talking after a while.
Everything passed in a dull haze. The numbness wouldn't go away. Greg let his mind wander, thinking about his brothers. Seth and Big Greg. Seth was building fighter jets, last he heard, but Seth had stopped talking to him only a few months prior to Greg's arrest. There had been accusations of corporate espionage and summary executions for those accused. Big Greg was in the Army, a mid-ranking officer in the Rangers, a Special Operations unit that was fighting alongside the mechanized infantry divisions cutting their way through China towards Beijing. He'd sent letters sporadically when he could...but those, too, had stopped abruptly. The last few letters had spoken of the desperation with which the Chinese were starting to fight. The Reds were losing a hundred men for every American soldier they managed to bring down, and even the vast east Asian nation's population couldn't support such unsustainable casualties. They were starting to fight dirty. There had been whisperings that the Chinese government was considering pushing the big red button with every mile American forces took. The thought sent a chill down Greg's spine, the first sign of any non-essential activity he'd given in days.
He looked up at the sound of keys rattling in his cell door's lock. Two prison guards stood in the doorway, shock batons drawn.
“Prisoner 0-50, on your feet,” one of them demanded curtly. Greg stood slowly, and the other guard approached, shackling his hands and ankles. Silently, they led him down the cell block hallway, taking several turns, climbing and descending staircases, passing by more rows of cells, gas-chambers for executions, firing ranges with blood splatters on the far wall, electric-chairs which stank of burnt flesh and hair, until they descended into a basement level. Just before they entered the doorway, Greg glanced up, seeing the words “CRYO-STASIS FACILITY” in blue block lettering. He closed his eyes quietly, sighing, before opening his eyes again. They led him into a massive hallway, more like a cavern, filled with holodisplays, Auto-Docs, computer terminals, and man-sized cylinders: The cryo-tubes.
“We are now unbinding your shackles. If you resist, we are authorized to use any means necessary to subdue you...and trust me, these shock batons hurt like a bitch,” the guard who had spoke earlier growled. Greg remained still as they unshackled his wrists and ankles, and hardly flinched as they unzipped his prison jumpsuit. Well...so much for dignity. He took a deep breath as they pushed him inside the nearest cryo-tube.
“See you at Big Mountain,” the guard guffawed, laughing as they closed the door on the tube. The back of the tube was made of some kind of adhesive, and it shifted, lifting him to suspend him in the tube, adhesive-binding him into position as a pair of mechanical arms forced a pair of tubes down his nostrils. He retched as the tubes forced their way down his throat, too lubricated to trigger his gag reflex. Another tube was forced past his lips and down his throat. A moment later, there was a hissing sound that roared throughout the cryo-tube, and before panic could set in, the temperature dropped rapidly, as the tubes pumped a variety of chemicals into him...a sort of biodegradable, human-metabolic anti-freeze.
An instant later, prisoner classification 0, ID number 50, Gregory Mills, birth name Elegy, 27 years of age, froze into a state of cryostasis. That last moment, the frost building on the surface of the transparent plastiscreen panel, the equipment beyond it, the rows of identical cryo-tubes, filled with others like him, so-called traitors, denounced for their actions of rebellion against a xenophobic, runaway government power, accused un-American for demanding to be heard, for demanding the government uphold its constitutional obligations, attended by blue-coated technicians, the blinking of holodisplays and computer terminals and status indicators, the harsh glow of the fluorescent lighting above...
It was the last he would see of the world as he knew it.
